


how to be eaten by a woman

by callunavulgari



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Blood and Violence, F/M, Face-Sitting, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-24 21:07:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12021009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/callunavulgari
Summary: “So why don’t you do it?” he asks, breathless. His chest is heaving, his mouth open, gasping for breath.“Do what?” Rey asks, and thinks about biting his mouth.The corners of his lips tick upwards. Kylo squints at her, half-smiling. “That.”





	how to be eaten by a woman

**Author's Note:**

> Basically I really wanted Rey to punch Kylo Ren and then sit on his face. And I wanted him to like it. So, here's that, but with a distressing lack of actual porn.
> 
> Title is a song by The Glitch Mob. I thought it was apt.

Rey hasn't truly punched someone since she was eleven years old, back when fending off other scavengers meant getting into rough, inelegant scraps, fighting dirty with thrown sand and teeth and jagged nails. She'd learned how to throw a good punch from one of the nicer pirates to come through Niima Outpost when she was eight, and learned how to kick and bite before that. She liked punching better though. It was more rewarding than picking little bits of bloody flesh out from under her nails or spitting foul blood from her mouth. It was almost a shame when she picked up her first staff at thirteen, which, while much more effective, never felt as _good_.

When Rey hauls back and hits Kylo as hard as she can, her knuckles stinging from the imprint of his teeth, it feels _wonderful_. He takes the hit beautifully, stumbling backwards several steps before he goes down, sprawled inelegantly in the sand at her feet. His mouth gapes open in a sick grin, red slicking his teeth, and as she watches he tips his head back and barks out a sharp laugh, tonguing the blood from the corner of his mouth.

His eyes are alight - defiance, yes, maybe. But mostly she thinks that it’s excitement, and isn’t sure whether he’s so intrigued by the situation that they’ve found themselves in or the fact that she _hit him_.

Worse, Rey thinks that she actually _likes_ the way that his blood looks smeared across her knuckles.

He spits a glob of blood at her feet and leans back on his elbows, watching her. The grin hasn’t quite left his face, and she wants horribly to stomp on it, to pull back and hit him again. She wants to rage and scream and find her saber and cut him in two. Wants to tell him how worn and tired that his mother has looked in the weeks and months since Han’s death, wants to watch so that she can see if he flinches.

She can’t do any of that, so instead she closes the distance between them, gets a hand in the neck of his robes and twists sharply, pulling him in close. He smiles wider when she bares her teeth at him; it makes her want to _bite_.

“Rey,” he says, and she snarls, giving into temptation and punching him again.

He wheezes in her grip, but his mouth is half open around a laugh, his dark eyes watching her.

“You don’t get to call me that,” she hisses, and shakes him once, like he’s more mongrel than human. Maybe he is.

“What should I call you then?” he asks, and despite not having the breath to laugh she still feels like he’s mocking her. “Master Jedi?”

She isn’t a Master. He knows that she isn’t one.

“You don’t get to call me anything,” she says with a sneer, and lets go of his robes abruptly, leaving him to go sprawling back onto the ground.

He looks at her, his hair a spill of darkness against the sand, his throat horribly white. The scar that she gave him is a clean, dark red line, faintly jagged across the bridge of his nose. She wants to give him another one. Wants to do horrible things to him. Wants to make him regret every horrible thing that he’s ever done.

She is _itching_ to hurt him.

“So why don’t you do it?” he asks, breathless. His chest is heaving, his mouth open, gasping for breath. _Weakness_ , a part of her crows, while the quiet part of her that remembers long, horrible summers on Jakku cries, _trap_!

“Do what?” she asks, and thinks about biting his mouth.

The corners of his lips tick upwards. Kylo squints at her, half-smiling. “That.”

 _Get out of my head_ , Rey thinks, loud as a shout. Her chest seizes up, alarm, panic, and she slams a wall up between them before he can manage to get anything else from her. She imagines a storm - lightning, thunder, biting wind - and hides her thoughts in the center of it. There.

“Don’t think so loudly, then,” Kylo says with a shrug. His breath is coming easier now, the blood flow slowing. She’ll have to do something about him soon, she thinks, and bites her lip, glancing towards the sky.

At her feet, Kylo shifts, wiping dried blood from his mouth and wincing. Good, she thinks vindictively. Let him hurt.

“They aren’t coming,” he tells her, pushing himself up onto his knees with a small groan. She watches him warily, considers hitting him again, if just to ensure that he stays on the damn ground until she can figure out what to do with him. When he sees her looking he stops dusting his robes off long enough to flash a mocking smile her way. “Not now. It’ll be hours yet before the skies are safe. Afraid you’ll have to deal with me yourself?”

That’s exactly what she’s afraid of, she thinks, and flinches when his smile grows.

“Those thoughts are not for you,” Rey growls, but it sounds only grumpy now. The fury is going quiet in her, the storm at the core of her subsiding. Rey knows anger - knows the feel of it inside her skin, how it lights up her skull, licks at the backs of her teeth, makes her feel dangerous. Luke would not have told her to hit Kylo, but Rey had gone and done it anyway.

She looks at her scuffed knuckles, the dried blood on them that is likely a little of his and a little of hers, and grimaces.

When Rey looks back at him, Kylo is watching her. He’s quiet, licking the drying blood from the corners of his mouth. She watches him do it, and thinks about his clever head trapped between her thighs, that quick tongue licking hot into her. If she kissed him now, would the taste of his blood repulse or excite her? She wonders, briefly, if he’d caught that thought too, if he wants it more than she does. His eyes are hooded, dark, and he sways towards her like he’s can’t help it, like he’s caught up in the gravitational pull of her.

“You know what you want,” he whispers, taking her hand and placing it in his hair, his pupils blowing wide when she instinctively twists, yanking his head back until his throat is bared to the sky. He licks his lips again, meeting her gaze, and says, “So why not take it?”

“You don’t know what I want,” she tells him, but it’s a halfhearted protest at best. The anger is a sword grown dull inside of her. She is wet between her legs and aches with the desire to kiss him until he is breathless and hurting and _hers_.

Rey knows what she wants. _He_ knows what she wants, and proves it by laughing in her face.

So she uses her hold on his hair to yank him into her, and bites his stupid, laughing mouth.

He makes a noise, little and hurt, and lets her do it. He goes breathless and pliant in her arms, his mouth open and wet, so she slips her tongue inside. Licks at the places she’d bit, listens to him make noise.

She laughs against his mouth, and pushes him down into the sand, marveling at the way he goes to his knees so easy for her. When she has him sprawled out beneath her, she steps out of her pants and goes to perch on the cradle of his hips, grinning with teeth when he twitches up against her. She uses the palm of her hand to hold him down.

“You know what I want,” she breathes, crawling up his body until she’s got his face caught between her thighs. His chest is heaving, his eyes dark, lips dark and swollen. She grins down at him, hunger thrumming inside of her. Right now, at this particular moment, she doesn’t feel much like a Jedi, but she does feel _powerful_. “Give it to me.”

 

 


End file.
